


Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, part iii

by Tassos



Series: Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow [3]
Category: Farscape, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-31
Updated: 2006-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-02 11:38:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tassos/pseuds/Tassos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Crichton falls through the rabbit hole and settles into Wonderland.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, part iii

**Author's Note:**

> Farscape through Dog With Two Bones, Atlantis through Season 3

“What bloody man is that?”  
Macbeth, 1.2

### Skin

John’s first thought on waking was ‘I have to go to work today.’ He had scheduled meetings. Orientation. A time table. There were probably punch cards involved. He wondered if he was going to get paid. It’s not like they didn’t feed him – or clothe him – or have free movies and popcorn.

_First day! Harvey had busted out John’s neon blue backpack from the fifth grade and his Batman lunchbox. He wore a suit and tie with yellow suspenders._

All the other kids are going to laugh at you.

_They’re going to love me._

John rolled to his feet, the morning chill both refreshing and a gentle shock. He had no idea what time it was other than sunrise marked by the warm glow through his window. The view was spectacular, nothing but ocean and alien buildings. John didn’t miss the wilderness, that was certain.

He showered and shaved. Dr. Weir had offered him a proper haircut and set him up for an appointment after lunch. 1300. One o’clock. It still felt strange telling time by the hour instead of counting from now or the watch change. Strange but familiar, too, like an old skin settling, shifting, trying to find a place in old grooves worn and not quite a fit.

The uniform he’d been issued was neatly folded on the chair, the pair of military boots on the floor underneath. The pants were cotton, stiff with newness and charcoal grey. Blue shirts, one short sleeve, one long, and a jacket, also charcoal grey, blue panels on the front. Color coded. Black, blue, green, yellow, and red. Another rainbow, but of jobs not skin.

In the end, John pulled on the long sleeved shirt, but kept his leather pants and boots from another military. He left the jacket on the chair.

_Really, John, you must move on._

I am moving on. Just not ready to let go.

* * *

Crichton was late. Rodney had specifically told him to arrive half an hour early so Michaels could get him set up with a laptop, radio, and bench space before the weekly Physics and Engineering meeting. He was now ten minutes late and Michaels said he hadn’t seen him at breakfast. He shifted on his feet as he told Rodney this.

“Did you try his quarters?” Rodney said with exaggerated patience wondering why he had to do all the thinking around here. Michaels jerked a nod.

“I went there first. There was no answer. No one’s seen him.” Michaels bravely met Rodney’s eye as he spoke, clearly expecting to get yelled at, which Rodney was going to do, in a minute. First, though, he tapped his radio twice.

“Ronon, have you seen Crichton?”

The channel crackled to life. “Yeah,” his teammate’s voice rumbled. "We’re having breakfast. What’s up?”

“He’s ten minutes late. Where are you?”

“Balcony outside the mess hall.” Rodney had the pleasure of watching Michaels flush in embarrassment when Rodney repeated the location.

“Tell him he has till Michaels gets there to finish.” He clicked off his radio and didn’t even have to say ‘go’ before Michaels was on his way. “Imbecile,” he muttered.

He was going over the agenda for the meeting when Michaels showed up with Crichton this time who looked not at all contrite but entirely too chipper for the beginning of the day.

“Sorry about that, Shroom, I don’t have a watch,” Crichton smiled all charm and good cheer. Too like Sheppard for comfort, actually.

“Stop calling me that,” said Rodney. “I take it asking someone for the time was too far beyond your capabilities?”

The stare he got this time reminded him too much of Ronon. “I haven’t missed the meeting yet.”

“Yes, and it’s all okay because I didn’t have paperwork and things I needed you to get over with before the meeting,” Rodney bit out. “You’ll have to do it at lunch because the meeting starts _now_.” He stood and snatched his laptop and his empty mug off the table. “Michaels, coffee,” he shoved the mug at the idiot’s face. Like a good minion in the doghouse, Michaels took it without complaint. Crichton just stood there like a lump, so Rodney snapped his fingers and pointed at the door. “You, move.”

Crichton stared for a second longer before complying. “You know you’re an ass,” he said conversationally.

Rodney just rolled his eyes. Everyone in this galaxy knew that. “Yes, and I’m also the boss who happens to save this city on a daily basis. Move.” The two other people who had space in Rodney’s lab were heading them out the door to the room with all the screens that they used for meetings and joint projects.

“Whatever.” Crichton rolled his shoulders like a teenager. Zelenka was getting him. Dealing with Sheppard was bad enough and they were friends.

“All right people,” Rodney took his seat and called the meeting to order. Michaels set his coffee beside his tablet, and Rodney took a long gulp and waved his hand in Radek’s general direction. “Update me.”

* * *

The meeting was actually pretty interesting. There were a lot of projects going on among the physicists and engineers. They handled most of the city maintenance like the water supply, power distribution from their limited source, the little ships Sheppard was telling him about, and anything that broke. In addition there were investigations into alternate power sources, a team on the Ancient database which sounded like a library from the previous residents, a couple groups that worked on Atlantis exploration and offworld discoveries, and one that worked on Wraith technology. On top of that were a few projects of pure science: investigations into dark matter and dark energy, distant stellar phenomena, and particle physics based on Ancient work.

It was pretty cool stuff, from the maintenance to the research. It was weird, almost like sitting back home with DK and the team working on the Farscape Project. Weird and followed by a jolt of homesickness for Earth and a life he didn’t think he could go back to.

It took him a bit by surprise when McKay announced, “This is John Crichton, Physics from MIT in his universe. He’ll be working on wormholes for the time being. I need a proposal and list of equipment and supplies in my inbox by the end of the week,” he added, looking at John.

“Proposal?” was all he thought to say.

“Noun: words strung together into sentences detailing what you plan to study and why,” McKay snapped. “If you hadn’t been late this morning, we would have already gone over this.”

“Right,” said John, wondering when the guy would get over it already. “When’s the end of the week?”

“Three days,” said the chief engineer. Fuzzy hair, accent, in charge of the puddle jumpers and the maintenance schedule.

McKay had already moved on to yelling at people for late paperwork and something about a data burst and the SGC. He was halfway through cutting off the third attempt at excuses when the little things fell together from conversation over the past few days and John realized that McKay was talking about sending reports back to Earth. Specifically the US Air Force.

John sat back and felt the blood drain from his face and tingle in his fingertips.

_You’re not going to let that stop you, are you, John? Harvey leaned forward in his seat between the desalinization guy and the Japanese woman in charge of one of the energy grids. Harvey wasn’t dressed up and he looked John in the eye, unblinking and hard._

John stared back, awash in memories that had faded with a year in the wilderness. What he’d fought for, what they had put their lives on the line for – lives lost, broken, hunted into madness.

“No one should have that power,” he told Harvey. Not even him, although he was as close as anyone but the Ancients had come.

_You will, Harvey read his thoughts._

It took a moment for John to realize that everyone was staring at him. He blinked and Harvey was back in his head.

“Yes? You had something to share with the group” asked McKay who barreled on when John took too long to answer. “No? Then don’t interrupt. Where was I?”

John didn’t hear a word of the rest of the meeting.

* * *

The first time Ronon got Crichton on the mat it was because Sheppard had ordered an evaluation. “Everyone has to do it,” the Colonel had told the former Runner at breakfast the day after he’d settled into McKay’s department. Crichton had a haircut and looked more like those from Earth than before, but there was still a wild glint in his eyes as he argued against it. He caved in the end, more Ronon thought, so he could smack Sheppard’s resolute cheerfulness off his face.

They were starting with hand-to-hand, and Ronon as the chief instructor, got first crack at him. Crichton had refused to change into more comfortable clothing as the Marines sometimes did for training. He showed up, resentful and full of attitude, in his blue science shirt and the leather pants he hadn’t yet given up. He glared at Sheppard who only grinned sardonically in response, and swept his eyes over the more crowded than usual gym.

“What is this?” he said quietly as he joined Ronon in the center of the room. “They expecting a show?”

Ronon shrugged, a small smile playing at his lips. “If you want to give them one.”

“Just a warning: I fight dirty,” said Crichton taking a step back. Ronon was half a breath into a reply when Crichton’s fist came at his face. No time to block, he jerked back and got clipped on the cheek, a burst of bright pain, quickly lost to the flurry of the fight that was suddenly raging. Ronon had been right when he’d thought it’d be a hell of a fight. Crichton was quick and used tactics and tricks that worked against bigger and stronger opponents. He’d learned against the Wraith, no doubt, with an inkling of something else, something missing behind his style that Ronon couldn’t put a finger on. It went back and forth, attack and retreat, until suddenly Crichton danced back out of range and said, “I’m done,” and stopped.

Breathing hard, every eye on him in surprise as he glared back, Crichton turned to Sheppard. “Look, I’m sick of this. I’m not a dancing bear and I’m not playing in your circus anymore. McKay asked me to work for him, so I’m working for him. You owe me Angelica and Whitney.”

Ronon cursed under his breath, worked up from the fight. What was his problem with fighting anyway, but Ronon knew the answer underneath the burning desire to just attack again out of spite. Just to push Crichton, make him fight back – like the Wraith had done.

Sheppard sent the rest of the room about their business with a glance as Ronon came to a stop halfway between him and Crichton. As schooled as ever in the face of a surprise, his teammate lifted his eyebrows at the names. “Angelica and Whitney?” There was no one on Atlantis called that.

“My knives. Since I’m no longer a prisoner and all.”

It clicked then, how Crichton fought like he was missing part of himself. Ronon would have won this fight because of that, and probably one against him armed, but it would have cost him.

Sheppard nodded and said, “You’ll get them, and your pistol.” Ronon could see him giving up on the firearms test. “I’m assuming you can hit the broad side of a barn with it?”

“Narrow side too,” said Crichton with the hint of a mirthless grin. “We done here?”

The Colonel nodded, “I guess so.”

“Good,” said Crichton, already looking over at Ronon. “Meet you for lunch?”

It was a peace offering as much as their normal routine, so Ronon held back the juvenile sigh and nodded. “I’ll come by the lab.”

“Cool. Later.” He brushed by Sheppard as he left, not quite close enough to be an insult, strolling out as if he owned the place.

“That is one stubborn man,” Sheppard commented when the doors closed.

Ronon snorted at the understatement. “He made his point.” He went to grab a towel from the bench, the need to fight still humming beneath his skin.

“Yeah?” said Sheppard, turning with him.

“He’s good,” Ronon replied. “As good as any of the Marines in hand to hand. Better with his knives, I bet.”

“He’s self taught – and the Wraith sure make one hell of a motivation,” Sheppard agreed. “Beckett says he’s had more than a few recent broken bones.”

Ronon expected nothing less. The Wraith were a hard enemy, relentless and unending. “He’ll refuse a field assignment,” he said. “Even a temporary one.”

Sheppard grimaced, frustrated but accepting. “I know.”

* * *

John fiddled with his laptop as if it were the first time he’d seen one. They were better than when he’d left. Thinner, faster, but still bogged down by Windows, although there was a set of programs he’d never seen before meant for serious number crunching. Games were still on there: Solitaire, Minesweeper, Hearts. So were a few of the previous owner’s files that had been missed. Crichton was drawn to those and spent his day trying to understand the zero point energy and cascading functions that distributed power through the city from two pages of typed notes, a spreadsheet, and four longwinded emails from McKay.

It’s no surprise that he understood it about as much as he understood hetch engines, but he did figure out that the Shroom was a demanding boss who tells it like it is good and bad, and that the laptop was completely inadequate for writing down anything related to wormholes. There are only two dimensions and one direction to write in, and a keyboard with not enough symbols and all the wrong combinations. It was reassuring. His work would be harder to steal and incomprehensible if it was. There was no one here to yank it out of his head after all.

No one to pester him about progress either. The Shroom was wrapped up in his own work and the other three people with space in his lab were similarly occupied, speaking in low voices.

John couldn’t concentrate. He couldn’t think in straight lines, much less around corners, and he couldn’t shake the burning desire to play golf in the halls. Harvey hated golf and had been pestering him instead to a chess match ever since they’d seen a pair of guys playing in the mess hall. John hated chess. Too much sacrifice.

The wormhole formed four times during the day before Sheppard came by at dinner time. He’d done it the day before as well, so John figured it was a regular thing for him to make sure McKay ate. They argued and bitched until McKay caved and they left, the other three scientists checking their watches and taking a break too. The woman, Dr. Simpson, glanced over her shoulder at him but looked nervous about issuing an invitation so didn’t.

_Well that was rude._

John shrugged and turned off his laptop. “They don’t know me.”

_They don’t like you._

“They don’t know me.”

The mess hall was crowded and the line long when he got there. Clusters of people sat chatting. Soldiers, scientists, a few mixed groups. Ronon and Teyla with Sheppard and McKay, all laughing together over a story McKay told. Smiles, arguments, fast, brilliant, noisy. John felt like a rock in a raging river, and escaped with his meal out onto the balcony.

* * *

It was crisp outside, early evening fading to sunset as Elizabeth followed Crichton onto the balcony. He turned as soon as he heard her, greeting her with a hollow smile.

“Do you mind if I join you?” she asked. It was the first time she’d spoken to him outside of her office. He gestured at the seat across from him.

“What’s up?”

Elizabeth smiled at the Earth greeting. “Just want to see how your first three days have been.”

“Oh, you know. New guy at the office. No hazing unless you count Colonel Sheppard’s physical evaluation.”

Their talk on the matter had been brief and rueful on John’s behalf. Hell of fighter, just not a willing one. “Ronon says you have a lot of skill.”

“I know when to quit when I’m ahead,” Crichton shrugged, staring at his plate. “I manage not to get killed.”

He was being modest. Ronon’s praise was not lightly given, and surviving the Wraith more or less in one piece was more than just not getting killed. Crichton’s body language was closed off, however, so Elizabeth didn’t push the point. “How are you settling into the Science Department?” she asked instead.

Crichton shrugged again, looking up. “Just dandy. Anything in particular you wanted to know?”

The challenge startled Elizabeth, and she smiled to acknowledge that yes, it could be construed as checking up on him. Which she was, but not maliciously. “Just let me know if you’re having problems,” she said. “Dr. McKay can sometimes be difficult to work with.”

“Everyone’s been leaving me alone,” said Crichton. But that was what worried her. Social isolation was not healthy, for him or the rest of the expedition. She understood how difficult it could be having changed schools in high school, but there was no way anyone besides Ronon could fully understand that depth of this change from Running to Atlantis. She was glad that at least they were becoming friends.

“Has anyone sent you the social calendar?” she asked.

Crichton’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. “You guys have a social calendar?”

Smiling, Elizabeth nodded. “What’s an outpost without recreational activities to boost morale?” she asked. “We have movie nights, a bridge club, chess club, Mensa chapter, a few poker nights according to gender and profession,” Elizabeth enjoyed the genuine smile that emerged at that. “There’s also a running club for the civilians, a basketball hoop set up on the north pier, and regular badminton tournaments that have become quite the spectator sport.”

“Badminton?” Crichton was chuckling now with disbelief.

“It’s a Chinese thing apparently,” Elizabeth told him. “We have to have Marines on duty for the matches.”

“That bad?”

“Worse than the soccer games on the Mainland.”

“Badminton hooligans.” Crichton shook his head at the thought.

“Did you play any sports?”

Crichton shrugged, smile still hovering. “Football when I was a kid.”

“A bunch of the Marines play,” Elizabeth commented, unsurprised, but Crichton clearly wanted no part of that.

“And you notice that they’re twenty years younger than me,” he said. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“We’ll find you something to do.” Elizabeth wasn’t about to let him become another antisocial scientist under her command, not when he’d spent more than a year isolated from human contact. He needed to reconnect with people, start living life again for the details instead of the necessities.

“I hope you’re not suggesting badminton.”

“I suppose running is out, too,” she added, narrowing her eyes in thought. What could he do? What would he do? Nothing too physical if what John said was true, or at least physical with Marines. There was the astronomy and constellation club that was systematically categorizing and making up silly stories about the night sky. The fishing club that never caught anything. The Rodney McKay Impersonation Troupe that she wasn’t supposed to know about. She threw suggestions out which Crichton both laughed at and turned down, in a conversation rife with the vagaries of what people would do to stave off boredom, which soon turned to college extracurriculars and something Elizabeth would call a friendly conversation.

Crichton had been on the solar car team and a member of the Society Against Cruelty to Chimpanzees, a group against the some of the practices in the biological research group on campus and medical testing at large. In turn, Elizabeth shared a few stories about her political work as a student and being so nervous when she met President Carter that she ended up telling him where he had gone wrong.

It was easy and as if they weren’t two people from different universes sitting in another galaxy in the Lost City of Atlantis. When he let his guard down, Crichton’s sarcasm melted into a pleasant sense of humor and genuine charm. He had a gift for storytelling that Elizabeth suspected included much embellishment to go with the drawl that emerged when he spoke of running from the sheriff after a night of cow tipping. He was a different man, the younger incarnation he described softening the wary fighter before her into something less intimidating than the knives and leather pants. At this moment, he wasn’t a man who had lost everything turned feral, but one like many she had known in her life, someone worth laughing with and caring for, worth her trust.

It was always a risk allowing people into the city. Sometimes it panned out, often it didn’t, but Elizabeth felt she had made the right decision about Crichton.

* * *

At breakfast, Ronon told John that he would be gone on a mission for a few days. Trade talks, don’t worry if he didn’t see Ronon at lunch. After they parted with a hasty good luck between them, John made his way to the lab, alone and realizing that it wasn’t just that people were slow to take to the new guy, but that he hadn’t been making it easy on them.

He couldn’t remember the last person he had touched other than Ronon on the mat. He couldn’t remember the last conversation that hadn’t felt awkward in his mouth other than with Harvey in his head. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d introduced himself first. With the epiphany came the sudden weight of loneliness that had been hidden amongst all the people here.

On the threshold of the lab, John stopped and for once took in the room. In the back corner was his desk where he had done nothing substantial since starting work. Two benches loaded with computers and Ancient tech cut through the room. McKay’s side was empty, but Michaels, Simpson, and Revsbech were already around their computers with their energy project. John had no idea what they were actually doing beyond trying to power the city.

All three stopped what they were doing and stared when he came over. John was suddenly back in his first day on Moya and his first glimpse of aliens. Mentally shaking himself, he knew this shouldn’t be that hard. He still said “hi.”

“Dr. Crichton, hi,” replied Simpson. John had to fight not to jump back.

“Please, just Crichton or John,” he said. “I barely remember anything I learned in school.”

“John then.” Simpson’s smile was a little less than forced. “What can we do you for?”

“Oh, I was just, you know, wondering what you were actually doing,” he said. He waved a hand vaguely toward his bench. “It’s kind of lonely in the corner.”

“Well,” said Revsbech, his voice slightly colored by an unfamiliar accent. “We are generally looking into alternate power sources. Specifically that means scratching our heads for most of the day.” His smile was genuine before he launched into more detail than John was prepared to handle. It was an oddly familiar feeling that went along with being the fish out of water, but at the same time, disconcerting to be part of this conversation. Even that faded away into a different kind of familiarity, however, as John stopped thinking and just paid attention.

It turned out that he learned more about zero point energy and Atlantis’s power systems than he ever imagined needing to know.

“When the next catastrophe happens, you better believe, you’ll be happy to know,” said Michaels, whose first name was Phil, when John mentioned it over lunch.

“City exploration’s been pretty tame lately,” Simpson – Caitlin – lightly slapped her colleague’s arm.

“Forget exploration, I was talking about the blackout that chemistry caused in the south tower labs.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Revsbech – Erik. “McKay nearly killed Bourget.”

“You haven’t seen in him a fit yet,” Caitlin told John. “You thought he was bad at the staff meeting, you haven’t seen anything until someone screws up.”

Then Phil launched into more detail than John was prepared to handle about their boss. Arrogant and petty and not afraid to make grown men cry – which was where Caitlin started to laugh and comment that he had never made her cry, and besides he always had a good reason.

“Tokay? Felps in botany? Those two Marines trying to fix the dvd player?” countered Erik.

“Most of the time he has a good reason,” Caitlin conceded. “He’s still the most brilliant person I’ve ever worked with – and if you tell him that I’ll make sure your source of quality coffee dries up.”

That was how John learned about the black market. When they went back to the lab, Caitlin even wrote down a few contacts for him, guarding the names from Phil and Erik who tried to wheedle them out of her; it took John a microt to realize that she was serious about selling the names for nothing less than lipstick and chocolate, that there were actual rules and decorum not unlike the trade that occurred at the markets of commerce planets. Well established from long use. And now John couldn’t figure out if he owed Caitlin or if this was a gift.

“I’m not selling you my soul, am I?” he decided to ask.

Caitlin laughed and shook her head. “I should have done this a few days ago.” Wrapped up in her smile was an apology that John accepted as easily as the slip of paper.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’m still getting used to all . . . this.”

“It’s pretty mind-blowing,” she agreed. Her voice was colored in the soft tones of awe and her eyes flickered to the walls and ceiling and everything alien.

“Yeah,” John agreed, staring instead at her.

* * *

The first time Radek met Crichton after the staff meeting, the man was throwing knives at a paper target on the wall. Specifically, at lines of equations written in a foreign script. The knives clattered loudly to the floor without a surface to stick into but the work was successfully shredded. Rodney was off on a mission and thus had not stopped. In fact, it had apparently been going on long enough for the three others to simply give him nervous looks at each loud noise. Radek swore dire vengeance on McKay for saddling him with a madman but gamely stepped forward and interrupted.

Crichton turned out to not mind. He also turned out to be quite interested in the puddlejumpers and equally adamant about not getting the gene therapy.

“Bad experiences,” he said with a shake of his head. “Although I did have a friend whose ship I could fly if he spit on my gloves.”

“That would not work with the mental component,” Radek managed after a moment of shocked disgust. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like to fly a jumper, to take her up beyond the clouds and feel her hum beneath his fingertips, but it was not something that bothered him. It was more than enough to know how she worked, what quirks hid beneath the veneer of Ancient perfection that made each jumper unique.

Crichton asked many questions, wanting to know how much they understood and how much could be gotten out of the engines. He especially liked the cloak and shield conversion, and was intrigued by the substitution of battery power for fuel. His grasp of zero point energy showed he’d been speaking with his lab mates but that his grasp on the details was tenuous at best – a normal situation for those newly arrived to Atlantis.

They ended up in the pilot and copilot chairs, talk of engines winding back to the first one either of them built – both cars, Radek’s to find out what it was like to have auto transportation, Crichton’s to have the baddest ride in town. Crichton kicked up his feet onto the DHD as he told the story of the first through eight times he broke down after he’d finished, once involving a girl, the stick shift, caught hair, and a very embarrassing encounter with the state trooper that had Radek’s sides hurting from the laughter.

By the time they were kicked out of the jumper by a Marine and the Athosian trading team, Radek didn’t think twice about inviting Crichton along to Friday Moonshine at the end of the day. He didn’t even think it strange when Crichton actually showed up, much to the astonishment of everyone else.

The room in fact went silent and embarrassingly loud again when Radek greeted the man easily with a casual “There you are!” and then proceeded to introduce him around. It reminded him of his first job overseas as a guest of Georgia Tech for a term. His English had been atrociously bad and he’d felt all sorts of out of place until an event much like this had welcomed him into the fold. Meeting people face to face was the best way to ensure that people would talk to you later.

Crichton was a little hesitant at first, but quickly sucked it up and relaxed, although his eyes constantly check to make sure that Radek wasn’t abandoning him anywhere. That lasted until he spoke with Dr. Laurie Coget, a chemist, who was working on native pharmaceuticals from a few of their trading partners. Almost as soon as she mentioned brain chemistry, Crichton was hooked. Radek smiled as he let Maneesh Patel drag him off to ask who he was betting on in the next chess tournament.

* * *

The first time John thought about sex since his arrival in Atlantis, he stopped, startled. It wasn’t exactly that he’d never thought about sex, it was that this was the first time it came up in the light of day outside of his fantasies of Aeryn. With another woman who was smart and funny, blond and green eyed, and had grown up in the South and got why ice tea had to be sweet. Between one microt and the next, they were suddenly flirting, and Laurie was beautiful in a way he hadn’t noticed at first through her blue uniform shirt.

It was like slipping on an old coat John had forgotten all about, a mask that said the right things, smiled and charmed and thought, I could get laid tonight.

_And what mask will she wear when you look at her?_

John barely noticed the question as his mind of its own accord noticed the light reflecting brightly off her hair, the easy smile, the accent of his own language, charm and grace and brilliance that added up all wrong despite how much he told himself that it would be easy. No strings, just another body to hold and touch, be touched by in return. Laurie was good people.

“It gets so warm the humidity reminds me of home,” she was saying. “All you need is the crickets chirping, instead of the waves. When I sit on my balcony I can’t get over how beautiful it is here.”

“It is beautiful,” John responded, catching her eye.

He got the chance to see her view for himself and how the moon reflected off the water. Her quarters were low enough to hear the waves, like she said, a soft soothing background like a forgotten tune, slightly off key. Darkness reduced sight to touch – soft, searing, a reflection of hot breath and cool fingertips. John sank into the offered oblivion, locking up Harvey and his heart, out of sight, out of mind. When gasps settled into sleep-even breathing, John watched Aeryn play with her child on the beach.

_You will never see them again, you know? Harvey put on his shades and offered John the spare pair. But you’re safer now. A whole military protecting you instead of hunting you. Real beaches. Space to work on wormholes, excellent pudding, and humans who understand you._

_John threw him a look and Harvey shrugged. As much as anyone besides me can, at any rate._

You don’t know me as well as you think, then, said John.

The room was still dark when he opened his eyes. Lightly, he shook Laurie’s shoulder until she mumbled sleepily, twisting toward him under the covers. John leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Hey, I’ve gotta go,” he said softly.

Laurie’s eyes flickered open. “Stay,” she breathed.

“No, I gotta go,” John repeated. “Thank you.” Laurie squeezed his hand as he rose and watched for a moment as he got dressed. John smiled at her as best he could, but didn’t know if she saw it in the dark.

* * *

  


### Bone

Teyla hadn’t seen Crichton much since his official joining of the expedition. She had shared a few meals with him and Ronon, but even that had dried up since their mission a week ago. Ronon wasn’t even able to spend much time with the former Runner who instead she heard of from Rodney.

“He practically moved into his corner and his papers are everywhere. It’s like a damned snowstorm,” Rodney waved his free hand frantically in a circle.

“Didn’t you gave him a laptop,” said John with a frown over his eggs.

“He uses it to play Tchaikovsky.” Rodney clearly didn’t think much of it, music, Teyla gathered when he added, “When I told him shut it off, he started singing.”

“He any good?” asked Ronon.

“No, but it at least gave me time to hack into his computer and set up a playlist with more variety than the greatest hits of the nineteenth century.”

“I thought you liked classical music,” said John.

Rodney gave him a withering look. “How would you like me to pipe the 1812 Overture into your quarters for twelve hours straight?” Teyla winced in sympathy with the others at that prospect.

Still, Teyla worried at the news. In his first few days, Crichton had not struck her as one to hole up in the labs as the scientists were prone to do. He always came to meals, but she had not seen him once in the mess in the past few days. Ronon said he did not join him at breakfast either.

“He hasn’t been in his quarters,” Ronon had shrugged stiffly, avoiding her eyes. “I went by the labs but he was really into what he was doing and didn’t want to talk.”

Rodney’s glee at his productivity was apparent to anyone, annoying tendencies notwithstanding, and from the scientists, Teyla would not think much of it. However, not speaking to Ronon spoke of deeper troubles.

Crichton was in his corner of the lab when she stepped into the doorway, instrumental music indeed playing on his laptop. It was well after dinner and the others had already left, leaving Crichton staring at his work that was taped onto the wall. He didn’t jump when she quietly came up beside him, his eyes flickering to her in the barest acknowledgement of her presence.

“I brought you dinner,” Teyla said, setting the tray down on his desk that was similarly covered in writing she could not read.

“Thanks.” Crichton didn’t move. His shirt was wrinkled and the beginning of a beard was bristling his throat and cheeks.

“You have not been to the mess in many days.”

“Nope.”

The silence stretched but he did not elaborate.

“Ronon says he has not seen you either.”

“Been busy.”

Teyla restrained the sigh that threatened. It was like dealing with an adolescent. Or John Sheppard at his most stubborn and here she did not even have the chance to beat it out of him later. She was about to try again when Crichton surprised her by speaking first.

“That’s wrong,” he said, muttered really in irritation.

“What –”

He stretched his arms to point at two symbols separated by his wingspan.

“Crichton?” she asked tentatively.

He finally turned to her. “Right. Sorry. I had to, uh…” he waved his hand vaguely at the equations now behind him. Blinking slowly, he frowned at her. “What’s up?”

“I brought you dinner,” said Teyla slowly, even more concerned now than she had been before. It was as if the last five minutes had not happened. Even the way he stood had changed.

“Yeah, thanks.” Crichton looked at it and smiled but made no move to eat, his eyes instead drifting back to his work, becoming disengaged once more, and unlike with Rodney, Teyla did not know how to shake him of it.

“Crichton,” she said louder. “John.” He turned again and focused on her. “Are you all right?”

“What? Yeah.” He smiled again but again it did not reach his eyes. “As much as normal, anyway,” he blinked and suddenly was back in the room with her. “I’m okay,” he said. “I just need…” He looked back at his work, roving over its totality, a path to his past, his other Earth, his home.

Teyla understood the longing. She also understood that he was going to lose himself in his work.

“I am going to visit my people on the Mainland tomorrow,” she said. “I would be honored if you would join me.”

“I –”

“You need to get out of this lab,” she interrupted before he could refuse. Crichton proved himself a smart man by closing his lips on further protest. Pleased, Teyla smiled in relief and pushed the tray in his direction. This time he took the hint and ate.

* * *

The sun was bright and felt more real when he was standing on dirt and scrub. John turned his face up to feel the warmth on his skin, shocked at how long it had been since the last time he’d been on land, when he’d walked through the circle thing from being a Runner to Atlantis, almost three weeks ago now. It felt like a lifetime.

Teyla’s village was lively and as different from Atlantis as any third world country from the first. It felt familiar however, like sliding on his real skin over the familiarity he felt in the city. Teyla had introduced him as a former Runner to her people, a title that was greeted with respect and a little awe, especially from the kids who peppered him with questions about eating bugs and hunting Wraith before being shooed off. There was no pressure to talk, no questions about where he was from, no heavy stares, simply an offering of tea and a seat by the fire as Teyla caught them up on news from the city and they caught her up on news of the village.

John tuned it out, still unfamiliar with Atlantis goings on and knowing nothing of the Athosians, instead letting the wash of voices and sunshine ease his headache. He’d slipped away easily enough a little while ago, followed only by soft smiles. It was a beautiful day, early spring and flowers were just beginning to blossom on naked branches. John wandered a bit taking in the ovoid shaped tents and the nearby fields where many men still labored. He’d seen it on a hundred worlds but always from a distance, from the outside. Hope, struggle, survival.

_What wonderful people! Harvey let out a self-satisfied sigh to go with the sarcasm and the grandmotherly outfit. Industrious, adaptable, resilient, said Harvey. You come from such a hardy species. Remarkable._

It surprises you? said John dryly.

They were the same things that had kept him alive in the past few cycles, after all. He ran his fingers over the hilts of Angelica and Whitney and missed the useless weight of Winona on his thigh. It was odd being considered – valued – as a scientist on Atlantis. Now that he’d made friends with his coworkers, it was as if he’d never felt the spurt of blood wash over his arm from slitting a Wraith throat. Never pointed a gun at someone’s head and pulled the trigger.

_Surprised, perhaps not. Surprised you made it as far as you did alone._

John shot him a look, Harvey once more in the black leather of his source, and wondered if he was cursed or lucky. Neither or both.

Solitude led to too many thoughts, too many conversations, and too many doubts until right and wrong and good and bad were fitted sideways together. In Atlantis, they were tilting back into a different pattern: human versus Wraith, ingenuity versus chaos, knowledge versus ignorance. Maybe it was the same struggle couched in different terms, but it felt like a world he’d forgotten how to live in, and standing here in this village only made it seem even more surreal.

“They really took the tracker out, right? You’re not frelling with my mind?”

_Come John, you have always been adept at figuring these things out._

Then why do I feel like I’ve time traveled back five years?

_Harvey turned to where the children were playing something that looked vaguely related to baseball. Do you?_

John watched the biggest boy toss the ball gently to the smallest, who chased after it on the bounce, hitting it on the second try. Two other boys rushed to chase the ball while the batter ran straight to the other end of the park where his teammates were yelling for him.

He didn’t have an answer for Harvey.

Do you think there’s still hope?

_I think you’re obsessed._

And what, I’m gonna drive myself crazy?

_Harvey turned his face up to the sun and smiled. As you keep insisting, you are already crazy. Have been for cycles. Crazy enough to do crazy things._

Suicidal, you mean.

_Desperate. Harvey dropped his head and looked at him with his stone cold blue eyes until John had to look away, unnerved._

* * *

The first thing Carson noticed was Teyla’s charred sleeve and the mottled, raw flesh beneath it. Second, possibly third degree burns with a high risk for infection. The arm hung stiffly at her side, the other thrown over Ronon’s shoulder has he helped her limp to the gurney. A quick glance showed that he was had suffered only a few tears in his jacket, but nothing gushing or gaping.

Carson didn’t waste time on the second thing he noticed, instead leaving that to Dr. Weir while he got his patient to the infirmary and started on antibiotics.

By the time he’d finished treating Teyla’s burns and had her resting as comfortably as possible, Ronon was already trying to break out of the infirmary while fighting with Elizabeth about going back for the Colonel and Rodney.

“Ronon, you said yourself that you didn't know how many people they have guarding their temple,” Elizabeth was saying in the face of one of Ronon’s more obstinate expressions. "I am not prepared to send you alone where you are likely to get caught too.”

“We’re running out of time,” Ronon snapped back. “They were being moved to more secure location which could be anywhere.”

“All the more reason to not rush into this. Now they both have their transmitters. We will find them.” Elizabeth held his gaze until Ronon gave an impatient and frustrated nod, his gaze landing on Carson as he spun away.

“Teyla’s going to be all right,” said Carson when they both turned to him expectantly.

“How bad is it?” asked Ronon.

“Second and third degree burns on her arm and a scattered first degree burns on her torso, but I don’t think I’ll have to do a graft. We’ll see how it is in a few days. She’ll be off duty for at least six weeks.”

“Thank you, Carson,” said Elizabeth. “Once you get cleaned up,” she said to Ronon, “we’ll come up with a plan to get the others back.”

She left then, leaving Ronon to get out, “Can I –” before Carson nodded and waved him through to see Teyla. He’d kick him out in a few minutes, but Carson knew better than to stand in his way. Normally it would have been all three of them. He couldn’t help the worry that skidded down his spine at the thought of Rodney and John held prisoner offworld somewhere. Rarely did these situations end with nothing less than a week in the infirmary, and if there was one thing that Carson was getting tired of in this galaxy, it was seeing his friends hurt.

“Hey. Doc.” Carson looked up from the paperwork he’d been staring at to find Crichton just inside the doorway. “I heard Teyla got hurt.”

“Aye,” Carson nodded. “She’ll be fine in a few weeks. Ronon’s in with her now.”

Crichton took his answer as an invitation to enter. “What happened?”

“Burns from fire.” He hadn’t yet gotten the full story, but from what he’d gathered it was arson. “Colonel Sheppard and Rodney are still being held captive.”

Crichton didn’t flinch at the news, his face inscrutable, and not for the first time did Carson wonder what made the man tick. He hadn’t even realized he and Teyla were friends, much less close enough that he would come visit her in the infirmary as soon as he heard the news.

“Can I see Teyla?” he asked. Carson nodded and led him to the back of the ward and held the curtain back. Teyla was out as Carson knew she would be given the medication she was on for the pain. Ronon straightened up from where he’d been leaning on the bedrail when they came in, looking younger than Carson had seen him in a long time.

“Hey,” said Crichton quietly.

“Hey,” Ronon replied.

Carson cast an eye over Teyla’s vitals but nothing had changed in the past few minutes.

“You ok?” he heard Crichton ask. Ronon answered with a blown out breath and a rumbled reply that Carson couldn’t hear.

“Ronon, Dr. Crichton,” Carson interrupted. “Teyla needs her rest.”

The two men nodded and with a last lingering look at their hurt friend, left quietly.

* * *

John’s first reaction when Ronon asked him was ‘Hell no.’

“Dr. Weir is never gonna let me go,” he said taking two quick steps back.

“John, we only have four scientists that go off on first contact missions,” said Ronon quickly. “McKay’s the only engineer which is what we need if we’re going to get past their defenses.”

“I’m sure your military guys have explosives and more than enough know-how,” John retorted. They were not stupid people who got sent to another freaking galaxy for a tour of duty.

“Past their defenses quietly and without blowing up something that won’t kill us by accident.” Ronon crossed his arms impatiently and huffed in exactly the way John felt about this too, trying to wrap his head around going back out there and already knowing he would. “Look, Zelenka said you know your way around the machines well enough, and you can fight which is one less thing I have to worry about.”

John closed his eyes and looked away. He could imagine Radek or Erik or Caitlin volunteering; they were brave, smart souls who would step up if they were asked because this was Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay and no one got left behind. The thing was, they should never have to be asked. Once upon a time, John shouldn’t have been asked.

_But now the name’s Crichton, John Crichton._

Shut up. And that’s not even funny.

Ronon was angry and like D’argo got angry, hiding his worry in his anger. For all that John didn’t really know McKay and Sheppard, they were Ronon’s friends, trapped in a foreign place. “When are we leaving?” he asked.

Ronon’s smile was terse and full of gratitude as he clapped John on the shoulder. “Twenty minutes. I’ll bring your gear to the gate room.”

Twenty minutes later John watched the circle thing, the stargate, as lights danced around its edges. He was back in the clothes he wore as a Runner only with a nine millimeter pistol strapped to his thigh instead of Winona. Ronon had offered him a tac vest like the ones the four Marines wore behind them, but John couldn’t fathom moving in it. He had a few tools tucked into extra sheaths at his belt beside Angelica and Whitney, and a voltmeter and hand held computer in his jacket pockets. If he needed more than that on any door they came to, he probably wouldn’t be able to figure it out.

John could feel the sneeze begin to burn in his nose.

“You ready?” Ronon came to a rest beside him.

“Yep,” John replied. He was. Like riding a bike. Get in, get out, stay alive in the process. He sneezed.

* * *

Shouting and threats preceded the heavy banging on his cell door that had Sheppard on his feet and ready for the rescue. He’d been here eight hours too long, seven of them alone after Rodney’s removal by the priesthood to a site no doubt filled with Ancient technology in the guise of most holy objects.

“In here!” he called in answer to his name.

The cell he was in was part of the Ancient complex that had brought them to this planet in the first place. Unfortunately, the planet also hosted a priesthood of ATA carrying monks who knew just enough to make escape difficult by, for instance, turning off the power to this section once the door was locked.

John waited for the explosion of C4 and was surprised when it didn’t come and didn’t come. He heard muffled words but couldn’t make them out even to tell who was there. Ronon and Teyla hopefully, if they made it out of the fire intact, and no doubt a squad of Marines. As the door slowly slid open, he revised that to add one of the engineers to the group, but couldn’t think who Lorne and Ronon would allow to come on a SAR.

“Sheppard!” Ronon greeted him. “Where’s McKay?”

“I don’t know,” said John looking around. Two monks were out cold on the floor, hands zip tied and Sergeants Matinas and Lode in their place. Lieutenant Williams and Sergeant Eams covered the other entrance. Crichton, of all people, was disconnecting his PDA from the door panel.

“Sheppard. Good to see you in one piece.” Crichton’s eyes raked over him from head to toe.

“What are you doing here?” John asked before he could stop himself. Ronon slapped a sidearm into his hands, and Crichton shrugged as he stood.

“Ronon asked me to come.” The PDA and leads disappeared into the pocket of his old coat. “I’ve always been a sucker for helping people escape prisons.” He had an odd smile on his face but didn’t elaborate, and honestly John didn’t really expect him to, nor did he have the time to be interested. Instead he turned to Ronon to get the sitrep.

An outraged Elder had welcomed them at the gate, and a young monk had wet his pants and given them John’s location. The monks weren’t very combative, but did their best anyway in the name of the Ancestors and their zealot leader. They had certainly escaped from worse places. “Let’s find ourselves another monk then,” he said when they were ready to move out.

Ronon took point with Matinas and Lode just behind him. John and Crichton were sandwiched in the middle with Williams and Eams taking their six. As used to compartmentalizing as he was during missions, John couldn’t help but be distracted by the man beside him. Ronon had asked Crichton to come, yeah, but this was the man who walked away from a fight because he had better things to do. Every time John had seen him in Rodney’s lab, he’d been eyeball deep in the wormhole stuff he was working on, like any other scientist in the department, finding meaning and passionate love for the work they did. He was done with adventure and danger and had made that perfectly clear. Yet here he was.

“John,” Ronon said quietly from the front. The use of his first name startled him until he realized that Ronon was calling for Crichton and not him. A locked door barred their path and as John watched Crichton fiddle with the door panel and the battery pack from his PDA, he had a fleeting thought at how easily he managed the unfamiliar crystals but quickly shunted it aside because the door was opening and there were monks on the other side.

The fight wasn’t really a fight. Ronon nailed the one of the off-guard monks with a stun blast, and immediately stepped in and disarmed the second of his wooden staff, spinning him into a headlock John knew from experience wasn’t going to let him turn his head for a week.

“Where’s McKay?” Ronon growled into his ear.

The monk didn’t know but he did know where all the cool gadgets were, which was Rodney’s likely destination. A solid blow to the head and they were on their way again.

“So I get that McKay’s smart,” said Crichton unexpectedly as they fell back into their marching order. “He’s also an asshole second to one and I just can’t see why they would want to keep him.”

John gave him a sideways glance, hearing Rodney’s voice in his head shouting that of course they would want to keep him for his sheer genius and what they could learn from him. Crichton did have a point. “Guess they think what he can do with all this is worth the discomfort,” he said, nodding at the walls.

“Let’s hope so,” said Crichton. “Hope they don’t get creative about keeping him in line.”

“They’ll regret it if they do,” said John darkly, his mind going back to storms and a jagged scar. That was not happening again.

“So how did you get to be such good friends anyway?”

If there was one thing John had not expected Crichton to be, it was chatty. His voice was pitched at a naturally gravelly low, and he kept his eyes on their surroundings, but when John didn’t reply right away he went right on rambling about a friend of his who he hadn’t understood in any way, shape, or form when they met or for a good while after that. John gave him a sideways look knowing just how Crichton must have felt.

Five monks turned the corner and he completely switched modes as Ronon and the two sergeants up front took care of them as quickly and quietly as they could. Crichton, John was pleased to see, shut up and pulled his sidearm, but didn’t shoot. He held the weapon like a pro, double handed, pointed slightly down with no shakes or sign of hesitation.

A good thing too, since those monks turned out to be the prelude to the main event held in a large hall whose door slid obligingly open and John’s approach. Inside every other monk in the temple stood in orderly circles around a control chair containing one, loudly ranting Rodney McKay.

John cleared his throat as they fanned out across the wall of the doorway, unnoticed so far, giving them time to survey the situation. They had the superior weaponry but the last thing John wanted was a massacre. “Excuse me!” he called out, and a moment later, every eye in the room was on them.

There was a startled cry from the closest monks, dismay and fear that they had breached the sanctuary. Ronon stunned two of them, but it didn’t stop the others who came rushing at them with their staves. John fired at the floor, hoping the ricochet wouldn’t kill too many of them as it stopped them in their tracks. Wide, young eyes stared at them conflicted with the need to defend their temple. John locked eyes with the monk in charge who stood behind the chair.

“We just want McKay,” John pitched his voice to carry.

“He is the Ancestor Reborn!” the monk proclaimed. “You cannot take him from us!”

A shot rang out suddenly, knocking the monk back, a glimpse of red on his chest as all the monks turned to look, confusion giving way to stark fear even has John yelled at his men to hold their fire. Time slowed down. A dangerous silence fell in the next second, overriding the litany of swearing going through John’s mind at how bad, bad, bad this was for their getting out of here without a high body count. He had a heartbeat, maybe two before that fear turned to violence.

“Who wants to say ‘no’ next?” The speaker was Crichton, whipping his pistol from the chair to a nearby monk twenty feet away. “You?” he said soft and deadly. “You?” he swung his aim to another monk who made the mistake of twitching. John stared as mesmerized as the monks as Crichton walked forward slowly. They parted before him as he kept up a running commentary, calm and collected and utterly crazy.

“All we wanted was our friend back. You thought we wouldn’t come for him? Did your mother not teach that it’s not nice to steal? Some places they cut your hand off for that. Should I cut off your hand?” he said directly to a kid beside him, one of his knives appearing in his hand. He was near the dais, and John recovered himself enough to hiss at Ronon and Matinas to follow.

The monks made no move to hurt them and allowed them to join Crichton and untie McKay from the chair. For once Rodney had the sense not to make a fuss until he was safely at John’s side.

“What the hell is he doing here? He could have gotten me killed!”

“What, no kiss for me for saving your ass?” Crichton said from behind him, his voice back to normal as if he hadn’t just stopped a mob from forming by insanity alone.

They were safely out in the hallway now, the monks imploding on each other in the wake of losing both their leader and savior. Rodney rounded on Crichton.

“You could have missed him and shot me! Not to mention the fact that they were about to rip you to shreds with their bare hands.”

“McKay, you’re overlooking the tiny fact that they didn’t,” Crichton gave him a look that said exactly what he thought of dire hypothetical situations that hadn’t happened. “My way we didn’t have to kill them all.”

“Your way could have ended in disaster,” Rodney retorted, and John agreed and was actually surprised that it hadn’t. In fact, he was still surprised that Crichton had done it at all. The man rolled his eyes at Rodney and moved to the front to join Ronon. John couldn’t hear what they said to each other beyond the grin Ronon gave him and the shrug and chuckle Crichton returned. He was a strange one and not at all what John had expected upon seeing him open his cell door.

Beside him Rodney grumbled as they made their way out of the Ancient building and back to the stargate without incident. John put away the headache called Crichton and bickered back out of habit, glad to have his friend back, whatever the circumstances.

* * *

Stepping back into Atlantis felt like laying down a burden that John hadn’t known he’d been carrying. Elizabeth met them with them the same relief lighting her face at seeing Sheppard and McKay returned safe and whole.

“Welcome back,” she said.

They were ushered off to the infirmary for a quick checkup, after which Ronon and his team and John went to see Teyla who was awake. Sheppard and McKay claimed the spots closest to her bed first since they had been the ones taken, reassuring her that they were safely returned. Sheppard made a few bad jokes and the Shroom whined about being kidnapped again, both of which made Teyla smile.

“And you led the rescue,” Teyla turned her eyes to Ronon who smiled and nodded.

“Got this lump to come with us too,” Ronon elbowed John lightly in the ribs. John felt the eyes of the other two, uncertain of him after his little stunt. Honestly, John hadn’t planned to shoot the guy. He just couldn’t stop seeing another chair where McKay had been tied.

_And Scorpius._

John wouldn’t wish that on anybody.

“Hey Teyla.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re thanking him?” McKay spluttered, which of course led to him telling Teyla about what happened with Ronon correcting him and Sheppard giving John funny looks like he wanted to say something but was holding back because it wasn’t in private.

John understood that he didn’t fit neatly into the box labeled 'scientist', or the box defined by Ronon for 'Runner'. He just couldn’t find it in him to care because he really wasn’t one or the other or anything else they came up with. He didn’t regret going or killing the monk or winging it to keep the other monks scared and frozen and not killing the rescuers, or prompting the bloodbath that would have followed the attempt. Sometimes it was nice when things worked out.

Teyla seemed to agree when she laughed at McKay’s outrage. “Rodney,” she said, “he is not the only one who has stepped into to certain death for a friend and walked out of it alive. Or is your memory shorter than you claim?”

McKay dissolved into spluttering as his teammates ribbed him about walking into energy creatures and other stories that soon had Beckett rushing in to see what all the noise was and kicking them out, leaving Teyla smiling. “Dinner?” Ronon smacked John’s shoulder to get his attention. It was easy and comfortable, like any other day when Ronon had come after him on his way to the mess. They hadn’t done that much in the last week, and John was surprised to find that he’d missed it.

Sheppard and McKay went off to shower with promises to catch up later so it was just the two of them walking through the halls. “McKay’s grateful, you know?” Ronon said suddenly. “He just doesn’t want you to know.”

Ronon’s obvious affection made John smile. “He’s still a bastard.” Ronon didn’t disagree but he did grin in a way that spoke of an aggravating friendship that he wouldn’t want ended.

“You surprised Sheppard.”

John tilted his head considering. “For going or killing?”

“Both.” Ronon gave him another sly grin. “You got his attention. He’s gonna want you on an offworld team now.

“No way,” John snorted at the thought. Going off on the rescue had been good for him, had gotten him away from the wormholes that had absorbed his attention. Calmed him from some of the frenetic energy that had been driving him forward, away. It was like . . . finding his body again after a hike in the ether and putting his mind back where it belonged. Reminded him he was more than the reflection everyone else here saw.

But John didn’t see himself repeating it. He wasn’t an adrenaline junkie and he certainly didn’t need people trying to kill him on a daily basis. He didn’t need to be killing people on a daily basis.

_Don’t tell me you’re afraid of yourself?_

No. Just tired of destroying things.

He and Ronon reached the mess and were waved over by Radek, Caitlin, and Erik when they had their trays loaded. “We hear you did many heroic things today,” said Radek. “I overheard the Marines say you had balls of steel.”

“Craziest thing I ever saw,” offered Ronon.

“You’re okay, right?” asked Caitlin. “I know you were a Runner. . .”

“I’m okay,” John reassured her, touched by her concern.

“Good, good. So the Marines also said there was a control chair?” said Erik with hesitant eagerness. “If you don’t want to talk about the mission. . . but was it functional?”

“I’m fine, really,” John huffed a laugh. “And yes, it was functional.”

As the discussion took off about power distributions and the cult of the Ancestors mixed with the details of mob psychology and overwhelming odds, John felt for the first time that maybe here in Pegasus, full of terrible and wonderful things, the humans understood enough. And maybe here he could find some sort of peace.


End file.
